


Avert your eyes

by Shirohime



Category: Abrahamic Religions, Christian Bible
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirohime/pseuds/Shirohime
Summary: There's only one angel that can even try to be equal to him in both grace and soul.





	Avert your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is for you, Gav.  
> I don't know.

He knew they had been talking about him. 

It wasn't too unsurprising, really, this was a small town after all. But he had needed to go. To leave and settle far away from everyone he knew. 

Just because nobody could hurt him physically didn't mean he was emotionally invincible. 

Lucifer's fall had broken him. More than he cared to admit, more than he would ever let himself acknowledge. He couldn't stand the pulsing energies of his younger brethren, couldn't stand being strong when there was no longer his light to smile at at the end of the day. 

It had been easy, really, to leave in the middle of the night. After all he was the most powerful being in existence, safe of his father. 

His grace twinge painfully, memories of his most beloved brother threatening to make his control slip. But he couldn't let that happen. Couldn't let the humans outright see who he was. If anybody were to find him here they would force him back. Back home.

Home. 

It hadn't been a home since the day Lucifer fell. 

Shaking his head, the Archangel Michael took a trembling breath before gently blowing out the candle illuminating his one room house. It was more of a den, if he was honest with himself. 

He'd chosen to keep it minimalistic, not to waste grace to make it more comfortable than he deserved. 

Red clay walls surrounded the densely packed floor. On one side was a heap of hay, functioning as a bed. There was nothing more in the room. Only the one candle that Michael refused to let burn down. 

He didn't have to eat. To drink or sleep. But sleep took his mind away, let his guilt drown. So lately he had been sleeping more than he had been awake. Though he still rigorously kept his workout routine.

That was all he did since he had arrived: work out, light the candle for a while then lay down on his hay bed and sleep until the sun's soothing yet mocking rays of light woke him again.

He'd had to conjure up a door made of rustling strings full of beads to keep the illusion of being human alive. 

They had called it from the heavens. He had heard Gabriel's horn, his distress call of finding the mightiest of them no longer amongst them. Michael had hurt, had found his heart bleeding at the song of sadness of his younger brother. But he had had to go. To hide who he was. 

His father probably still knew where he was, omnipresent and all. 

But nobody came to drag him back. 

No. The desert was quiet, only the sound of mortal beings disturbed its rusty atmosphere. 

So Michael wept. Silently and every day. For the loss of his brother. For having betrayed the one he ever truly had cared about. 

It was hard to contain his power in this form. Hard to keep his grace from leaking out when he was this unusually emotional. 

And one day his grip on that exact control had slipped, huge void black feathered wings snapping into the earthly plane, cutting through red clay like butter. 

And Michael screamed his agony far across the land, across the universe he sent his voice, rattling buildings and people alike. 

He'd stood there, indigo and royal blue grace pulsing in distress whilst his wings and body were covered with the remains of the clay house he had lived - no, wasted away - in. 

Wings flared high and vulnerable, the Crown Prince of Heaven looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with unshed tears. 

The people were staring, shocked and in awe. He could feel their feeble souls skittering around in uncertainty. 

But none of it mattered. None of it, because the Lightbringer had been cast out and Michael wanted him  _back._

Songs lit up the clouds, golden and white flashes singing joy and relief and worry.

Then Gabriel struck the earth. A whirl of wild gold, eyes liquid honey as the Messenger parted the sand beneath his barely there feet, impacting like a comet upon these lands.

His face was not human, shifting grace in a vague shape of a human head. But Michael felt the shy happiness radiating off his little brother. The unfulfilled glee and utter relief. 

No words were exchanged as the two most powerful beings locked attention onto each other and the air glimmered with their combined power. 

And Michael understood. 

The pain, the agony, the sadness that each angel had felt upon the Morningstar's exiling. The raw and void space now in their hearts, in their minds and grace alike. 

They didn't mourn as deeply as the crown prince. They didn't know how to. But the Messenger had not come down to do his job. Had not come down to deliver His punishment.

Gabriel had come to beg. 

For Michael to return. To take his place in heaven and creation once again. 

Gabriel had come to beg for his brother to ascend with him, to not leave him alone. He had come to make his brother understand. And to promise him guidance and strength in dire times, where the Prince himself could not conjure any of his own.

And Michael straightened his posture, mortal body soon nothing but dust, before the Archangel took his brother's hand.

He'd protect the family he had left. He'd never forget his light. And most importantly: 

He wouldn't let anyone take from him what little he had left. 


End file.
